Leather
by deadcell
Summary: Seifer wakes up with a hangover on Squall's couch the morning after the ball for SeeD graduates. Seifer/Squall. Contains mature content.


Seifer woke with a fog in his head and the taste of stagnant vodka on his sticky, dry tongue. His insides felt rough-lined and hollow, and as his eyes tried to focus the one thought he had was _water_. He was on a couch, an uncomfortable thing; worn and set with a metal bar rigid beneath the two cushions, the dull ache in his back letting him know exactly where it had pressed.

_Where the fuck am I_, he thought, blinking, rubbing his eyes with a clumsy hand. He looked around, saw a mess, clothes on the floor, a gunblade case against the wall and wondered for a second _is this my room_ and then he saw Squall.

Across the room, through the bedroom door, he could see Squall sleeping in his bed—no wait—it was _Squall's_ bed, and he was in Squall's room. He tried to remember how he got there, tried to conjure up images of the night before in his dizzy, throbbing head. The last memory he had was taking swigs with Fujin from a bottle of cheap vodka somewhere; must have been way past curfew, somewhere in Balamb Garden. He remembered them discussing Quistis' body and how drunk you'd have to get Selphie before she'd let you fuck her in the ass, laughing when Zell stumbled past them, looking for his room. After that he didn't remember much; in fact he didn't remember anything, but he felt an uncanny discomfort, a sadness, knowing that yesterday was the SeeD exam and he had failed it, that he had been excluded from the ball.

_The ball_. Another thought came to him, slowly, like something unclear in the distance fading into view.

_Rinoa._

She was there, and Seifer had seen her there. Seen her with Squall. _Of all fucking people. But why then, why am I in his room?_

He got up and went to the sink, fumbling for a glass on the counter, not caring how much noise he made, and as he sloppily chugged glorious water into his dehydrated system he heard movement, heard Squall rising from his bed, walking.

"Good morning," Squall said, walking past him and going into the bathroom.

Seifer wiped the water dripping down his chin and neck with a hasty, clumsy hand and turned around, saw Squall hunched over the bathroom sink, washing his face.

"Hey," Seifer said, "How'd I get here?"

There was no sound for a few moments except for the splashing and slapping of water, and then Squall turned off the faucet, turned around and groped for the towel on the wall before drying his face. "You asked," he said when he was done. "You came here asking me about that girl, and then you passed out."

"I asked about a girl?"

"Someone named Rinoa."

"That's the girl you danced with."

"Well I wouldn't have known. She didn't tell me."

"What'd I ask you?"

"You kept asking if I was jealous."

"What…" Seifer turned, sat back down on the couch. Water dripped down his chest; he was shirtless and hadn't taken any care to wipe away the runoff from his chin. He rubbed his forehead; the spot between his eyebrows felt as if it were pounding from the inside. "God I'm so hungover… listen… I used to date her. That fucking girl."

"Oh?" the tone of Squall's response indicated little interest.

"Yeah. Her name is Rinoa. She's my ex. Don't know why the fuck she was here. And then she was dancing with _you_."

"How'd you know anyway? I thought you couldn't get into the party. Having… not passed and all."

"Security ain't that serious," Seifer let out a laugh that was more like a grunt. "If you could call it that. What, Quistis gonna yell at me? Slap me on the wrist? What the fuck ever. Doesn't matter really. We came and saw and left."

"Who's we?"

"Oh, me, Fujin, Raijin, other failures from the squad… you know."

"So why'd you want to stay here?"

"Shouldn't you know that? You're the one who remembers."

"Well I do… I just want to hear you say it."

Seifer's hand paused where it had been rubbing the top of his aching head. "What?"

Squall didn't answer. He turned back around, pushing the bathroom door half closed, and Seifer settled back into the couch, hearing the sounds of Squall in the bathroom, the sink running again, medicine cabinet opening, then closing. Seifer looked around again, saw the gunblade case propped against the wall with Squall's jacket tossed haphazardly over it and then—next to him on the couch there was a leather shirt on which he must have slept. It was black—of course, Squall was quite partial to that color—and thin, lightweight. Seifer held it up, opening it, his eyes traveling the width of it from one side to another.

"Skinny bastard," Seifer muttered.

"Huh?" Squall grunted from the bathroom, his mouth obviously filled with toothpaste. Seifer heard him spit into the sink. "What's that?"

"Nothing", Seifer said. He balled the shirt up in his hands. It was so smooth, delicate almost; soft and supple like untouched human skin. But then again it _was_ skin, or at least Seifer _thought_ it was. Leather was from a cow, or… _something_. Seifer had never paid attention much in Biology class, or whichever class it was in which one would learn the makings of a leather shirt.

He heard the sound of Squall opening something, the rattle of a plastic cap being twisted off. He stared down at the shirt as he listened to the base, yet intriguingly _human_ sounds of Squall's mouth. The swishing around of mouthwash, the uncouth sound of gargling and the messy spit against the porcelain basin of the sink. Seifer waited for Squall to emerge, for the door to open all the way, but he did not. Instead Seifer heard the rattle of shower rings against the metal rod as Squall pushed aside the curtain and stepped in.

_He trusts me to hang out in here?_ Seifer thought. His eyes traveled back down to the shirt balled in his hands, and warm impulse stirred in his gut.

_I want to smell it_, he thought, and inhibition held him back but for a moment. He raised the shirt to his face, pushed his nose into it and inhaled deep as possible, smelling faint cologne, dirt, sweat. A clean sweat. He closed his eyes, exhaling and breathing deeply again, a warm hum rising in his groin.

_God_, he thought, _why_. He rubbed his face against the shirt, relaxing his grip, surrounding his face with the leather. _Smells like me_, he thought, that distinct smell of man, the musky spice un-nameable. His cock was hard, and he lifted his face from the shirt, pressing it then to his crotch and leaning back against the couch.

He left the shirt there on his lap, the leather pooled in a black crumple, raising his hands to run them through his hair as he leaned his head back against the couch. _Squall's in the shower_, he thought, and the implication of _naked_ made him shake, sent a strange hot tremor down from his bellybutton to his cock.

He grabbed the leather and sniffed it again, roughly, the air ragged through his nostrils, smelling Squall, smelling _man_. When Squall had last cleaned the shirt, Seifer had no idea; all he knew was the smell, the scent of Squall Leonhart seeming to cling to the very cilia in his nostrils. That smell made Seifer desire nothing more than to press his face into Squall's flesh, his _armpits_ even, inhale the heavy musk there, his skin and hair mimicking the smell of the leather which he now pressed to his face in fantasy.

He unzipped his pants, pulled his cock out. He started to stroke it, jerking off, kneading Squall's shirt in his other hand, tempted, so tempted, to drag the material over his cock. He let go of the shirt and with a gasp released his cock from his hand and pulled his pants off. It was now or never.

_It's now or fucking never._

He pulled the bathroom door open, hot steam tickling his face. Reached for the shower curtain and wrenched it aside, the rings screaming against the metal bar.

Squall was in there, rinsing shampoo from his hair, turning abruptly with eyes closed against the suds. "What?" he yelled, turned his face to the spray of water. The soap rinsed from his eyes and he opened them, focusing on Seifer, showing barely a sign of shock as his eyes traveled from Seifer's face down to his erect cock and back up again.

"What the fuck," Squall said, water streaming down his face. "What the fuck are you doing."

"I want to know what I said," Seifer answered.

Squall remained still for a moment, gathering his bearings. Then, he spoke. "Do you _remember_ what you said?"

Seifer ran his hand over his cock, slowly, beginning to stroke. He smiled at Squall. "You tell me."

"What the fuck," Squall muttered, and through the steam of the shower, Seifer saw his cock begin to thicken.

"I know," Seifer said, "I remember what I said." He continued to stroke himself, slowly, caressing his cock, his chest heaving slightly with his quickening breath. "But right now, before I say it, you're going to _watch_ me, and you're going to _like_ it." Seifer's voice shook with the pumping of his hand.

Squall just stood there, eyes locked with Seifer's, his body still, the water hitting him. They stayed like that for a few seconds, and then Squall moved, turned off the water. Seifer slowed his hand, listening to the squeak of the faucet knobs, the hard pattering sound of the water slowing to a trickle, and then silence. Squall turned back to face him again, leaning his back against the shower wall.

"I'll watch," he said, "But what are you going to show me?"

"What do you want to see?"

Seifer could see the faint whispers of a smile pulling on the sides of Squall's mouth, could see the muscles in Squall's face tensing as he fought it.

"You tell me."

_Asshole_, Seifer thought, but he kept his face straight. He stopped jerking off, held his hard cock in his hand.

"I want to see you touch it."

Now Squall let his mouth move, the corners moving up in a grin. "Well, keep going. Beg for it."

Seifer's laugh was empty, and then he said nothing. He began to stroke again, leaning back against the wall, his shoulders banging uncomfortably into the towel rack. It was an awkward second but he shifted himself, flexed against it and relaxed. He felt the rough cloth of the towel against his back, relaxed into it, let the rack settle beneath his shoulder blades.

"Make it last," Squall said; and the sound of the words made Seifer feel as if he'd come right then and there. But he took a deep breath and tried to focus, slowing his hand as he felt a surge of pleasure, knowing that if he kept going he wouldn't be able to stop.

Squall stepped out of the shower, his cock hard, body wet and dripping onto the tile of the bathroom floor. Squall seemed to have no regard for the mess, the water sliding off him smooth as oil, his nipples hard, balls taut, cock looking strained. Seifer felt the hot, moist air flooding his lungs, took a deep breath as Squall moved in front of him, placing his hand on the wall on either side of him above the towel rack, body still an arm's length away, taunting.

They kept their eyes locked and Seifer kept pumping, trying to concentrate, thinking _oh god keep calm_ as Squall eyed him, his lips parted, breath coming out a bit heavier than normal, water still streaming delicately down his face and dripping to the floor, his hair seeming to stick and fall everywhere except for over the scar. That scar. Seifer fixed his eyes on it, shuddered with a gasp and a sigh, thought to himself _our work_ as he pictured the scar on his own forehead, mirrored with that of Squall's.

"So what is it then," Squall panted. "Fucking tell me."

Seifer exhaled and his breath became a moan. "Rinoa," he said.

"What about Rinoa?"

"Rinoa. When you were dancing with her, when you were thinking about her… I fucked her, Squall, so who are you more jealous of? Her, or me?"

Squall exhaled violently, his body shuddering, and Seifer could smell his breath against his face, all heat and peppermint mouthwash. Seifer was panting, close to climax; Squall said nothing to aknowledge his previous statement and instead looked Seifer straight in the eye.

"Go ahead," Squall said. He leaned in, the muscles in his arms becoming taut as he leaned his head down to Seifer's shoulder. He licked the flesh there and Seifer gasped, sucking air between his teeth, and then Squall bit him there, gently at first and increasing the pressure until Seifer made a noise. He loosened his teeth, spoke again. "Do it."

Seifer began to pant, overcome. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, feeling Squall's breath on his shoulder, moving in towards the place where the flesh of his neck met his collarbone. There was a bite there too, hard, and Seifer shuddered, feeling himself beginning to come, gritting his teeth as he let out a whining growl.

"Do it," Squall said again, and he pushed back with his arms as Seifer began to come, lengthening the space between them, watching for a second as Seifer's come shot out in intermittent spurts before closing his eyes and leaning his own head back, sighing.

Seifer was shaking, letting out little moans, opening his eyes as much as he could at that moment, seeing Squall as a white and brown blur through a hazy squint. He finished, his body tingling, suddenly feeling as if he couldn't get enough air, feeling strangely content; no, _discontent_, not quite ashamed but _strange_. His legs were weak. He opened his eyes and Squall was still there, around him but so far away, breathing heavily.

Squall looked him in the eye again.

"Clean it up," Squall said, and he straightened, turned, and left the bathroom.

Seifer breathed heavily, leaned against the wet tile of the bathroom wall. "You fucking asshole," he muttered. "I can't fucking stand you."


End file.
